'Transformational Writing\r'

'Transformational Writing The manpower Jerked to the floor, all social barriers destroy by the capricious nature of death. Privates and Generals kindred squirmed in the filth, their sear bring upg hands smothering prosperous pink flesh, fearing the deathly burrow of a bullet. zany flopped, limp like a fish. His face bury itself into the dirt and broke the dry crust his chin tunnelling into the sticky layer below, gaping like an abrupt wound. He heard the ration party fall down the floor their contents spilling out into the mud.He heard a rasping moan escape Evans lips, his shoulder clunk the fire step awkwardly. He heard the cries of men and the guffaw of a crow, mocking the senseless carnage. And because silence. The dominoes had fallen. son of a bitch wrapped his hands most his head, nuzzling his face into the mud as a flub would a bosom seeking the protection of two-ply underground earthy walls and for a moment he forgot about the war, he forgot about Evans and Shaw a nd Weir and instead he was sat at home with Margaret, chair pulled up by Johns bed, drinking in his sons face caterpillar tread his hands through his wispy hair.The promise he had made Margaret echoed in his mind, her mature features thick with business concern glazed over im, â€Å"l am freeing t surivive this bloody war, Im gonna go home and look by and by my wife and were gonna grow old together and on sundays well visit Johns grave and… ” He remembered the misplaced Sandbags. Gingergly he raised his head, others were stirring around him.Weirs broken torso lay sprawled in the filth, his arms splaying at nonpareil angles, dirt swimming into his open mouth, infecting every pore. â€Å"Sir! ” goofball hissed, â€Å"Its 0k, the boche missed. ” No reply. â€Å"Sir! ” No reply. Now on his feet, Jack edged his way towards Weir, commando style in he dirt, his eyes flashing nervously towards the lose sandbags. â€Å"Weir! ” mud splattered h is face, his elbows working with vigour.Blood pumped from the hold up wound in the back of Weirs head, saturating his neck and tunic. His softening cap lay forgotten in the dirt, blown off the balding head. Jack moaned. Cradling his captains body in his arms he called for help, â€Å"Someone get me a medic, he must have fallen unconcious! ” Evans, field and Jones gazed at the pair with a sorrowful expression. â€Å"Its scarcely a scratch! ” Jack cried in firmness of purpose to the now congealing blood, â€Å"Just a scratch! ” By bighame\r\n'